


one day (someday) i'm gonna be free

by Roflskate



Series: Torrigan Cadash [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cadash-Centric (Dragon Age), Gen, Inquisitor (Dragon Age) Backstory, Missing Scene, Smuggling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21764347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roflskate/pseuds/Roflskate
Summary: "It was supposed to be a simple job. Get in, figure out what everyone needs, make some arrangements, and get out. Simple. Other than the fact that the place would be crawling with a who’s who of every important mage, templar, and Grand Cleric across the South. Or that if he missed even the smallest detail, the whole thing could completely blow up in his face, meaning that his thirty three year streak of not being stabbed to death might finally end. Completely simple."-Or: The Final Moments of an Average Smuggler's Life Before he Picks up a Ball, Walks Out of the Fade, and Inadvertently Becomes the Chantry's Next Messiah.
Series: Torrigan Cadash [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1568563
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	one day (someday) i'm gonna be free

There were good stories and there were bad ones.  _ This _ one starts out with a bad cliché: It was supposed to be a simple job. Get in, figure out what everyone needs, make some arrangements, and get out. Simple. Other than the fact that the place would be crawling with a who’s who of every important mage, templar, and Grand Cleric across the South (and, if certain rumours are to be believed, a hostage Deshyr from the sodding Dwarven Merchant’s Guild). Or that if he missed even the smallest detail, thus letting one of the other clans muscle into the "family's" corner of the market, the whole thing could completely blow up in his face. And that meant his thirty three year streak of not being stabbed to death might finally end. Which really wasn’t exactly Cadash’s first choice. 

But other than that? It was a completely simple job. 

It all started out normally enough. The day that he’d arrived, he met with one of his mage contacts, followed by a templar, and ended up with an identical story: this whole Conclave was doomed to failure, Justinia was clearly going senile in her old age, and it wasn’t like the demand for lyrium was going down anytime soon. 

In layman's terms, that translated to plenty of business for the Carta, which suited him just fine, and even allowed him to negotiate a few smaller deals right off the bat. So far, so simple. Of course, when it came to the Carta, it was never just enough just to have a few  _ small _ deals. What you really needed was something  _ bigger _ . Something that would  _ really _ make the clan head take notice, but  _ not _ something so big that he’ll be thinking that you’re a threat, looking to muscle your way into his role. So, the logical conclusion was that Cadash needed to take a more  _ innovative _ approach for the rest of the Conclave. 

His first meeting on the second day was a Chantry sister named Murielle, an old friend —with one or two benefits thrown in for good measure— who always seemed to know who was buying a little extra, and which way the lyrium market was turning. Murielle was waiting for him at the meeting spot (an isolated area of the temple underneath the gaze of a statue of Archon what’s-his-face, who’d stabbed Andraste’s flaming corpse and set Her soul free to take Her place at the Maker’s side, or whatever other shit the Chantry was peddling on any given day), looking as ravishing as anyone wearing a mostly formless robe could look. Which is to say, she’d applied far more khol to her eyes than a Chantry sister should, let a strategically placed piece of dark brown hair peek out from under her hood, and made sure her nails were perfectly manicured in the Orlesian style. All in all, she looked  _ just _ like he remembered her from their last dozen meetings or so.

“Cadash?” She asks with a frown on her face, as though she’s not quite sure who she’s seeing. “...Torrigan Cadash?”

Apparently, the same couldn’t be said for  _ him. _

“The very same,” Cadash says, doing his best exaggerated bow as the corner of his mouth quirks into a sly smile, “Who else would the Dasher send? It hasn’t been that long since we’ve seen each other, has it?”

“Two months by my last count. Clearly long enough to… For you to…” she begins, but quickly gives up on the pretense of subtlety, “sweet Maker, what exactly is that...  _ thing _ on your face?”

Of course, he should’ve known. The mustache was a new addition, something he’d grown when the Dasher told him to “try and blend in”. Like any good underling who was starting to get up there in years and give fewer and fewer shits about life, he’d taken the advice to heart. After all, what better way is there to “blend in” than by growing sodding facial hair like ninety percent of dwarves out there? With the help of a friend (this one  _ without  _ benefits) in the Carta, Cadash had picked out the perfect style. So, one thing led to another, and what had started out as a not-so-subtle way to piss the Dasher off had somehow (quite literally) grown into something that Cadash was confident could put Grand Duke Gaspard himself to shame. With Murielle’s reaction he can’t help but laugh, smoothing out the hair on his upper lip for good measure. 

“Nice of you to notice. I knew I had to be a little more inconspicuous than usual for the conclave, and you know how much us dwarves love our beards, so here we are!”

“Right”, Murielle says, her voice oozing with skepticism, “you look…”

“Dashing? Roguishly handsome? Perfectly able to blend in with a crowd of Orlesian Chevaliers?”

“Not inconspicuous.”

“You sure about that? Sister, you wound me!” He says, placing a hand over his heart in mock distress, “with talk like that, I might have to walk away at this very instant and find another sister with insider information and a penchant for tossing aside her most carefully guarded vows.”

Murielle rolls her eyes. “…Remind me again how it is that the Carta hasn’t killed you yet?”

“Unlike _ some people _ , they appreciate my charming personality,” Cadash laughs, shrugging, “And admit it. You’d rather work with me than one of those other thugs”.

Murielle waves a hand dismissively. “Please. You talk sweetly enough, but you and I both know that when push comes to shove you’re just as much of a thug as they are,” the sister laughs.

_ As if you have to remind me _ , Cadash thinks bitterly, his smile almost dropping before he catches himself. Now really wasn’t the time to get angry at someone for pointing out an obvious fact, especially when that someone is finally starting to warm up to him again. He  _ needed _ this. For everything to work, he needed to keep up his smile. Not to mention, if he dropped it and showed even a hint of distaste, wouldn’t that just prove how right she really was?

“Maybe so, sister, but I’m still a thug whose vocabulary isn’t strictly limited to ‘coin’, ‘lyrium’ and ‘break your kneecaps’. And at the end of the day, isn’t that a net win for you?” For good measure, he even throws a wink into it.

_ Never let them know what you’re really thinking. Always turn on the charm, no matter how much you don’t want to _ . _ It’ll all work out in the end. _

“I... suppose so. You’ve proven that you have a way with your tongue in the past, after all,” Murielle says, her face colouring ever so slightly.

... _ Perfect _ .

“Tell me what I want to know sister, and you’ll see what else my tongue can do for the rest of the day,” Cadash says as he takes her left hand, lightly pressing his lips to it.

“I really shouldn’t…” Murielle says, letting out a positively girlish giggle and (most importantly) closing her hand around his.

“I’m hearing a ‘but’ at the end of that, aren’t I?” Cadash asks. 

“...But, I  _ suppose _ your rather unfortunate facial hair might just accentuate your… oration. I won’t know unless I do an exhaustive comparison?”

_ Got her _ .

See, this was the thing. A little flattery here and there got you far more friends than just simple brute force in the lyrium trade, which was something that most of his colleagues didn’t seem to understand. Murielle was the one with the best information on buyers, and she could have appointments with dozens of other Carta contacts. If he spends the rest of the afternoon with her, suddenly, all those appointments are gone, he’s the one with the best contacts, and no one will be able to figure out exactly how he managed it.

Plus in his line of work, it’s better to have your fun when you can, because it’s only a matter of time until your dumb luck finally runs out. And as much as he hated to admit it, “dumb luck” was essentially his middle name at this point.

“Like I said, tell me the best buyers, and who knows what else I’ll throw in—” Cadash starts, moving to kiss her hand yet again when they’re interrupted by a loud thumping noise that’s coming from the end of the hall, and something that sounds suspiciously like screaming.  _ Well, isn’t this just something else _ . His smile drops, and he immediately looks up at Murielle again, though to his brief relief, she looks as surprised as him. 

So, whatever it is, she’s not in on it.

Of course, if she’s  _ not _ in on it, she also has no sodding idea what’s going on. So, that means that it can be anything, from an elven servant who just broke a plate, to a whole mob of dwarves preparing an ambush, to some ancient lyrium monster that just woke itself up from the temple’s depths.

For all their sakes, he’s hoping that it’s Option Number One.

“Is anyone else supposed to be in this area right now?” Cadash asks, dropping Murielle’s hand and instinctively reaching for the dagger on his belt. Really, he’d preferred to have a greatsword on him, but that’s a step too far, even for the Carta.

Murielle shakes her head. “—That’s why I chose it. No one else is supposed to arrive here for another hour or—”

More muffled noises can be heard, this time, getting a little closer because of course they sodding were. Nothing can ever be easy, now can it? He looks back at Murielle, briefly placing his free hand over hers at a rather pathetic attempt at comfort, before turning away.

“Stay here and keep quiet. I’ll see what’s going on.”

The whole thing started with a bad cliché: It was supposed to be a simple job. And just like every single bad cliché, while he didn’t know it at the time, the added complication he was about to walk into would change his whole sodding life forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Dwarves deserve more love in Dragon Age fandom. This is the first time I've written something from the Inquisitor's POV, so I hope that you enjoy. 
> 
> If you'd like to say hi, you can do so over at baratheon on tumblr.


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